HARRY POTTER AND THE END
by chase3136
Summary: "I must die. It must end." Harry now knows that he must confront Voldemort for the last time and fulfil his destiny. March to his death. In his last hour he encounters an unexpected obstacle before he can put an end to the Prophecy, it is then that he comes to appreciate the irony of his life. If Today Was Your Last Day...T RATED VERSION I NOW COMPLETE! VERSION II WILL BE M RATED.


Created: 25/01/2010

Rating:** R** /**COMPLETE!**

**NOW DRASTICALLY EDITED! see END NOTE for more details.**

**A/N:** _Italics_ are necessary quotes from J.K. Rowling's Canon _HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS_. **Songfic**: If Today Was Your Last Day – Nickelback, lyrics (NOT MINE!).

_**T RATED**_

* * *

**HARRY POTTER AND THE END**

**If Today Was Your Last Day**

**_W_**_here is everyone?" whispered Hermione._

_Ron led the way to the Great Hall. Harry stopped in the doorway._

_The house tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other's necks. The injured were being treated up on the raised platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze was amongst the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand._

_The dead lay in a row in the middle of the hall. Harry could not see Fred's body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs Weasley was lying across Fred's chest, her body shaking, Mr Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks._

_Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the body lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks; pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling._

_The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backwards from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died…_

_He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Remus… he yearned not to feel… he wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him…_

_The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of Snape's last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office._

_"Password?"_

_"Dumbledore!" said Harry without thinking, because it was he whom he yearned to see, and to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind._

_But when Harry burst into the circular office, he found a change. The portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained to see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle, so that they could have a clear view of what was going on._

_Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore's deserted frame, which hung directly behind the Headmaster's chair, then turned his back on it. The stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet where it had always been: Harry heaved it on to the desk and poured Snape's memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. To escape into someone else's head would be a blessed relief… nothing that even Snape had left him could be worse than his own thoughts. The memories swirled, silver-white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived._

. :*: .

My best friend gave me the best advice  
He said each day's a gift and not a given right  
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind  
And try to take the path less travelled by  
That first step you take is the longest stride

. :*: .

**_I must die_**_. It must end._

_Ron and Hermione seemed a long way away, in a far-off country; he felt as though he had parted from them long ago. There would be no goodbyes and no explanations, he was determined of that. This was a journey they could not take together, and the attempts they would make to stop him would waste valuable time. He looked down at the battered gold watch he had received on his seventeenth birthday. Nearly half of the hour allotted by Voldemort for his surrender had elapsed._

_He stood up. His heart was leaping against his ribs like a frantic bird. Perhaps it knew it had little time left, perhaps it was determined to fulfil a lifetimes beats before the end. He did not look back as he closed the office door._

_The castle was empty. He felt ghostly striding through it alone, as if he had already died. The portrait people were still missing from their frames; the whole place was eerily still, as if all its remaining lifeblood were concentrated in the Great Hall, where the dead and the mourners were crammed._Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak when he reached a stationary stair case.

"Potter?"

The voice echoed in the empty corridor and Harry spun on his heel to find Draco Malfoy walking slowly closer with a different wand held limp at his side, Harry thought it looked a lot like Goyle's, or maybe it was Crabbe's, from a distance; short and chunky with dark wood, Malfoy must have borrowed it after he lost his mother's wand in the Fiendfyre.

"Malfoy?" Harry stared with his right hand poised over his back pocket, unsure of what he should be expecting, his Invisibility Cloak forgotten in his left hand.

"Where are you going?" there was a peculiar hitch to Malfoy's voice. He looked unnaturally pale, that greyish tinge was still present from last year, his once snow white complexion was but a vivid memory in Harry's mind, his cold grey eyes were dull and glassy as if he was in shock, and Harry felt a now familiar stab of pity for Malfoy when he remembered the tears Malfoy had shed after realising that Crabbe would not make it out of the Room of Hidden Things.

Harry sighed. He really did not want to pause; neither did he want to think lest he lose his nerve. And he could not lose it. He could not lose.

"Where do you think I'm going?" said Harry a lot harsher than he had intended. He didn't stop. "Do you want to take me yourself? To prove to Voldemort what a perfect little Death Eater you really are?"

Malfoy's wince penetrated his watery sneer. Harry would have snorted but he was apprehensive about how vulnerable Malfoy appeared. He didn't like that Malfoy had become a person in his eyes and was no longer a childhood villain in his black and white world, instead he saw all the self-inflicted torment Harry, himself had gone through, and was still going through, reflected in grey eyes. He resented Malfoy even more for that.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter. You can't go out there by yourself, you'll be killed!" When Harry just stared at him impassively, Malfoy's cheeks flushed with angry colour and he pressed his lips into a thin white line. _"Gryffindors,"_ he spat out like the word left a bad taste in his mouth, "bloody stupid the lot of you! If you're not risking your necks then you're coming up with new and ridiculous ways to break them, _honestly_!" Malfoy was shaking with fury, his flush blotting his neck and visible forehead. "For once in your life, Potter, _think _before you put your neck out there. A lot of people will die once you're gone; the world doesn't stop if _you _die, it goes on without you!"

"I know that!" shouted Harry, frustrated that Malfoy had the cheek to accuse him of anything. "You think I don't know that people are dying? Look around, Malfoy!" Harry swung his arms out wide gesturing wildly at the disarray all around them. "_I _understand perfectly well what's going on, but what about _you_, Malfoy?" said Harry, his tone condemning. "Do _you _understand what a monster your master is? Do _you _know that if he wins then he is going to kill you too? He doesn't _feel_, Malfoy! He can't love! He will _kill_ you, just like all the Muggles and Muggle-borns you hate so much. You think you're helping yourself but you're not!"

"_I _KNOW THAT!" screamed Malfoy, his words ricocheting off the walls, over and over again, fading into the distance until the deafening silence enclosed around them again.

Harry gawked at him. Malfoy's nose was scrunched up in disgust while his voice faded into nothing, but in the ensuing silence he sighed heavily, and it was a sigh Harry had sighed many times before, when he had felt the weight of the whole world pressing on his shoulders, pushing him down, and had become utterly exhausted from carrying it around everywhere he went for so long.

"I know what the Dark Lord is, Potter," admitted Malfoy grudgingly. "And I have no false pretences about what is to happen to me."

"Then why are you on his side?" Harry demanded, unconvinced.

"Because… it was expected of me, and I do so hate not living up to other people's expectations." his sarcasm was tangible.

"So, you chose to join Voldemort because we _expected _you to? That's ridiculous!"

"Chose? Do you really think I had a choice?" Malfoy screeched, his wand hand trembling at his side. "You're the one with the twit choices here, Potter! I had none! And here you are again, the _great_ _Harry Potter_ making another _daft_ cock up! Before you condemn others, Potter, perhaps you should take a long look in the bloody mirror!"

"I don't have a choice either!" shouted Harry.

"Yes you do, you mug!" Malfoy's voice sounded strained.

"NO I DON'T!" Harry's voice was too loud through the empty castle corridors. He stood shaking from head to toe from anger because of the constant rain of insults or fear of what was to come after; maybe both. "There are people dying, because of _me_! It's always because of me! I'm the only one who can end this and it _has_ to _end_, Malfoy!" Harry's eyes burned with unshed tears but he ignored them. Malfoy's grey skin appeared ghostly in the moonlight leaching in through the broken window and the crumbling stone wall, a cool spring breeze raising the hair on Harry's exposed arms and neck beneath his wild, singed shoulder-length hair. "This was how it was always supposed to end! I was_ never_ meant to survive! All my life I've been avoiding the inevitable, I'm supposed to die and this is it! But that doesn't mean I'm not going to take Voldemort down with me!"

Malfoy was shaking his head frantically at Harry with wide, disbelieving eyes. "No." he whispered. "No! That's a lie! You're just being the egotistical, reckless imbecile you always are! Get _over _yourself, Potter! The whole bleeding world doesn't revolve around you!"

Harry laughed hysterically. "Me?" Harry chuckled feeling his eyes stream. "That's rich coming from you! You've always had to be the centre of attention!"

"And how would you know?" Malfoy demanded heatedly. "It's not as if _you _ever paid any attention!"

Harry abruptly stopped laughing and looked at the fuming Slytherin and Death Eater in front of him like he had never seen him before. Maybe he never truly had. "You, insufferable brat, how much bloody attention did you want? You had the whole of Slytherin at your beck and call! Was that not enough for you, your _highness_?" Harry barely resisted the urged to imitate Snape in fifth year, and bow ironically like the Potions Professor had back in Umbridge's office.

Malfoy pursed his lips in irritation; the restraint he was trying his damned hardest _not_ to show was obvious to Harry. "If I wasn't who I am then you wouldn't have given me the time of day," he said.

Harry frowned at the other man; that was a very odd thing to say. "Of course, I wouldn't have; you wouldn't be you if you weren't _you_!" Malfoy raised a condescending eyebrow and Harry rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. You're Draco Malfoy, and you wouldn't be who you are without the name, that hair, the snobbish clothes and the evil personality."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes critically, his left hand unconsciously reaching up to run through the soft looking pale strands. Harry's subdued half-smile was in amusement. _That _was what Draco Malfoy picked to argue with; his _hair_.

"Nothing's _wrong_ with it. It's just _always_ gelled back. I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair down until now." Harry speculated. Malfoy's cheeks flushed pink with something that had nothing to do with antagonism this time. This struck Harry as a very unusual reaction.

"Malfoy?" said Harry, feeling cautious all of a sudden. He was not sure if he wanted an answer. "Why do you care? I mean," he hesitated when Malfoy looked at him in alarm. "_If _you care, do you? I thought you would want me dead."

"No, I don't want you dead," said Malfoy evenly. His expression was guarded but Harry could just glimpse the sincerity in his eyes. The echo of his memory shouted, 'don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!' helped to convince him. "But then, you're Harry Potter and the only hope that anyone has to winning this war, I have to care." Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; he hated his name said like that.

"Harry Potter," said Harry experimentally. "I never liked the fame, you know? I know you think that I'm some pig-headed celebrity but I never wanted any of it. I never wanted to be something special."

"You are pig-headed, Potter," Malfoy countered but his expression had softened by the slightest fraction. "But not because you're a celebrity. And whether you or I like it or not, you _are _special." Harry gaped at the compliment; never in his life would he have believed that Draco Malfoy ever knew how to complement someone, let alone actually manage it and to complement _him _as well… "Don't look like that, it doesn't become you. I can be honest when I want to be, I was, if you care to remember, brought up in a high class family before all this bollocks happened. I am perfectly capable being quite the charmer." he said haughtily. Harry swallowed the impulse to laugh again.

"Do you still hate me?" The question took Harry by as much surprise as it did Malfoy.

"Yes," said Malfoy shortly. Harry felt his stomach clench, in the last moments of his life, he suddenly realised how senseless their hatred had been.

"What if I wasn't who I am?" Harry tried. "What if you weren't who you are?"

"I would still hate you," answered Malfoy immediately, and Harry caught his breath at the same moment he felt something very small inside him break away, leaving him feeling empty. Perhaps, it had been hope? "I don't hate you because you are_ 'Harry Potter'_," Malfoy was confessing but Harry barely heard him through his life's blood, rushing past his ears. "You probably won't remember this, but I tried to be nice to you before, and I still wanted to be your friend when I found out who you really were. But you chose a Weasley over me."

Harry scowled as he thought through what Malfoy had just said, all blood rapidly draining from his face. Harry's green eyes bore into Malfoy. "You hate me because I wanted to be friends with Ron?" said Harry outrageously. "You were horrible to his family, what was I supposed to think?"

Malfoy flushed again with renewed fervour. "For generations, his and my family have been at ends! I was told every Weasley was a blood traitor, what do you expect? Besides, he insulted me first!"

"No, he didn't!"

"Yes, he did! He laughed at my name!" Malfoy sneered.

"Well, it is unusual." said Harry defensively.

"And what is wrong with my name?!"

"Nothing! It's just different, that's all!" Malfoy glowered at him and Harry sighed in exasperation. He had to get going; he did not know why he was still here, anyway. "Look, Malfoy, the truce is going to be over soon, I need to go." Harry turned back towards the staircase.

"Wait!" Malfoy shouted behind him and Harry paused to look over his shoulder. Malfoy was closer than he had been before and his expressed was pleading. "Don't go." he told him.

Harry sighed again, feeling hollow and entirely helpless. "I have to, I told you this is how it was meant to be." Malfoy shook his head. There were tears creeping down his cheeks.

"Stay." he said quietly. Malfoy reached out and gripped Harry's sleeve, tugging gently. Harry swallowed heavily as a lump of unexpected emotion swelled in his chest.

"I can't…" Harry whispered wanting nothing more than to assure Malfoy, and himself, that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Please… Please don't leave me…"

Harry looked into the eyes of his former rival, the man who he had hated for seven long years and found it ironic that the first wizard he could remember meeting, that wasn't a half-giant, would be the wizard he said goodbye to. It was almost poetic, in a sick and twisted way. Harry remembered the slight, pale, blond, snobbish boy he had met in Madame Malkin's on the morning of his eleventh birthday and reflected on how much things had changed since that first magical day.

Malfoy was still tall and svelte but Harry found that he had to look in a slight downwards angle to meet Malfoy's eyes now. Those eyes that had glared at him across every classroom and meal time in the Great Hall, those same eyes that had always been there to mock him whenever he had conveniently made a complete prat out of himself. Harry would have laughed if he had been told just an hour ago that Malfoy's eyes would at any moment be silently begging him not to go, to stay with him, to _live_. But right then, he had no desire to utter a syllable, unwilling to break the spell those grey eyes had cast over him. They were beautiful, Harry reflected. They had little sapphire blue flecks around the pupils; he had never notice before…

… It was then that Harry found an unrecognisable force pulling him forward… his cherished Invisibility Cloak slipping, unnoticed, between his slacked fingers..., which is how he came to be with, not Hermione or Ron, not Ginny or even Cho, in his final hour... but with Draco Malfoy. Kissing him in a deserted corridor inside the building where their rivalry had manifested, while their friends mourned and Death Eaters prepared to ambush the castle at dawn; and it was _perfect_.

All those years of misguided hatred melted into a desperate passion as their lips locked, tongues duelled and teeth clashed. It was intense. Their hands palmed flesh under clothing and fisted hair, and nails scratched at skin attempting to touch every inch of each other before reality could tear them apart.

Before Harry knew he was moving, he had walked Malfoy backwards until his back hit the wall. He trapped Malfoy between the corridor wall and his body, wanting nothing more than to crawl under his soft, white skin and never leave. He tasted amazing; incredibly warm and fresh, and Harry just could not get enough. Perhaps, it was just because he knew that this would be his last chance at intimacy but Harry had never been so hard in all his young life.

When breathing became a problem, they had to come up for air. Malfoy was flushed rose-pink and panting; his eyes were huge and glassy, up close. Harry tried to slow his breathing and steadied himself on the wall behind Malfoy while refusing himself the notion of pressing his lips back against where he so wanted them to be.

Malfoy leaned into him, but Harry stepped out of reach. At the hurt look in Malfoy's eyes, he instantly regretted it. "I have to go, before I'm too late." Harry strived to explain, his lips burning with the heat of Malfoy's kiss.

Malfoy's flushed face instantly became livid. "So that's it; bye then? You make me sick." Malfoy pushed him violently away, and Harry stumbled further back. "So what was that?" Malfoy demanded, "Sympathy? Some sick punishment? Or did you just fancy some clichéd hero's 'farewell kiss' _bollocks_ and I'm just a _convenience_?"

Harry rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses; it had been an extremely long twenty-four hours. "I can't do this right now, I have to go." He turned to leave yet again, picking up his discarded Cloak without breaking his stride, determined.

"Well, right now is all I've got, isn't it? You're walking off to your _death_ for fucks sake!" Malfoy shouted after him.

Harry stopped in his tracks. That was true, and it wasn't fair. Harry felt sick that he did not have enough time left. "Just tell me what that meant." Malfoy said in a small voice.

Harry looked back and saw Malfoy still leaning against the wall as if without it, he would crumble to the ground, and Harry's chest ached. "I don't know," answered Harry truthfully. Malfoy closed his eyes and turned his head away, his cheek pressed against the cool stone of the wall behind him. "I'm sorry, I just… I don't know. I'm so sorry."

Malfoy looked back at him; tears were relentlessly streaking down in face. "I hate you," he whispered and when Harry searched his storming grey eyes, they confirmed it.

All Harry could think of to do was nod and, finally walk down the stationary staircase while his lips tingled detractively. His head was swimming with memories and thoughts about what had happened in the past, and what had happened only a moment ago. He was so confused. Never in his life would he have thought that he was attracted to Draco Malfoy, but apparently, he might have been all along. Images of past encounters with his Slytherin counterpart made him realise that he had always cared what Malfoy was doing, where he was and what he was thinking. Although, Harry had reasoned that it was because he was certain that Malfoy was evil and always up to something sinister, when in reality it could most likely have been Harry's way of wishing that it were all a lie.

And, somehow, it had been.

Harry felt something close to hilarity bubbling up in his aching chest. _Now would be the time for life altering revelations_, he thought bitterly; when he was only minutes away from death.

_It would never have worked out anyway; I'm not gay_. Harry told himself frankly. They were too different. Everything was against them and would still be even without Voldemort complicating things further. _It is better this way_. Harry deliberated gravely, and yet, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he felt deep down that there was no one he had more chemistry with.

With Cho and even Ginny – who he had convinced himself that he was in love with – it had never felt completely right with either of them. There had always been something holding him back, distracting him from making a full commitment like how he had desperately desired. However, on the brink of death he could not help thinking that _that_ kiss had been phenomenal and he felt remorse for the fact that he would never have the chance to discover whatever had just transpired between him and Draco.

_Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and descended through the floors, at last walking down the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall. Perhaps some tiny part of him hoped to be sensed, to be seen, to be stopped,_for Draco to come running after him, determined to stop him _but the Cloak was, as ever, impenetrable, perfect, and _Draco would never be so rash as to expose himself to the Order. He was too Slytherin. It was just who he was, and Harry did not begrudge him for that. _Not anymore._

_He reached the front doors easily._

. :*: .

If today was your last day  
and tomorrow was too late  
could you say goodbye to yesterday?  
Would you live each moment like your last?  
Leave old pictures in the past  
donate every dime you have?  
If today was your last day

. : :* *: : .

Draco sat slumped against the corridor wall listening to the descent of Potter's footsteps on the staircases; his lips were puffy and moist from Potter's kiss. He did not know what had possessed him to try to stop Potter from his _stupid_, and predictable, plan to sacrifice himself so that he would not have to watch his little friends die. He was a little distraught at the moment. He supposed that it could have been the trauma of knowing that one of his best friends had killed himself. The foolish idiot. But then, it could also be the anguish of having to serve the Dark Lord finally catching up with him, and the memories that would haunt him throughout the rest of his days.

He did not want to move, he wanted to stay exactly where he was. Maybe, Potter would change his mind and come back to find him here? Draco immediately chastised himself; Potter would not change his mind, it was not in his nature. He was not coming back.

Draco felt the hot tears that would not stop streaking down his face. He squeezed his eyes closed tight and let out a shaky breath. It was not meant to hurt this much. Potter was nothing but a thorn in his side, and so he had been telling himself for years. However, if that was true then why did he still have vivid dreams of the first time he ever saw the scrawny, and scruffy, dark haired boy in Madam Malkin's almost eight years ago? Those huge and innocent, gem-green eyes had captivated Draco, peeking out from behind the most horrendous glasses he had ever seen. Somehow, the fact that the boy had been dressed in ghastly muggle clothing, and was clearly poor, had not mattered. All of Lucius' training and advice had flown out of Madam Malkin's window that day, because Draco wanted to be friends with that boy, and he had tried everything he knew to impress him.

Nevertheless, Draco had not been good enough. The Malfoy name was not enough to make an impression on this strange, intriguing boy; everything his father had told him would get him everything he could ever want, could not give him Harry Potter.

It was the insult from a Weasley, which had wounded his pride enough to make him careless, which had threw him off his game so much, that when Potter had rejected him on his first journey on the Hogwarts Express, it had taken him completely off guard. It had _hurt_. No other child had ever hurt Draco before; his father had made sure of it.

And Draco had never forgiven Potter for that day.

Hurried footsteps echoed around the corridor from out of the dim. Draco wiped quickly at his face and came unsteadily to his feet, Crabbe's wand at his side. He did not want to leave, for whatever reason, but he did not want to be caught either. Making a hasty decision, he slipped behind a convenient tapestry and into a hidden alcove since Hogwarts had plenty of both to spare.

The footsteps slowed as the intruders entered the corridor and heavy breathing could be heard as Draco held his own.

"HARRY!" A recognisable voice called out frantically. Draco grimaced as if he was in physical pain, repressing a loud, mortified groan. That was all he needed; a confrontation with Potter's lousy sidekicks.

"Harry!" And there predictably followed the unmistakable ghoulish grunt of Weaselby.

"Where is he?" Granger sounded hysterical. "You don't think he went out to face Voldemort on his own, do you? Oh, no! He has, hasn't he? Ron, we have to do something!"

"What? We're no match for You-Know-Who and you know it! Harry has a better chance of surviving then we do. You-Know-Who hasn't been able to kill him yet! What's to say now will be any different?" was the Weasel's reply.

Draco unexpectedly felt white-hot rage boil inside of him. How _dare_ that overgrown goblin call himself, Harry Potter's best friend! _This_ is the wizard Potter had picked over him? Shocking himself, he abruptly stepped out from his hiding place with Crabbe's wand outstretched in front of him. Weasley and Granger saw him at the same moment and both went for their own wands. The imbeciles had been running about the castle with their wands in their pockets. Harry Potter's best friends; defenceless.

_"Incarcerous,"_ hissed Draco, his wand slashing through the air. Ropes rapidly snaked around Weasley's gangly limbs, squeezing tight. _"Expelliarmus!"_ Draco shouted over Granger's smart attempt at a counter curse. Her wand flew into the air before her spell was completed and Draco caught it with his marvellous Seeker reflexes, which were far more advanced than Potter's, by the way. He trained Crabbe's wand on Granger's tense figure, which surprisingly now actually resembled a figure albeit more curvy than his preference, whilst the stiff lump that was the Undesirable Ginger Git toppled unceremoniously to the floor at her feet.

"LET ME GO, YOU LITTLE PRICK!" shouted Ginger, pathetically struggling against his bounds.

"What have you done with Harry?" Granger demanded, and Draco barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just barely. At least he was reassured that some things just never change.

"Potter has left the building." replied Draco as casually as he could manage. He did not want to publicize any weaknesses after all, and he had learned long ago that Potter was definitely a weakness of his.

"WHY, YOU! I'M GONE'NA KILL YOU!"

"What do you mean? What have you done?" The Brightest Witch of Her Age continued to accuse him.

"I have done nothing!" said Draco heatedly. Although, he tried to calm himself down with a deep breath, since now was not the time for a Malfoy tantrum. "He left on his own. I just thought I'd let you know before you end up doing something equally as brainless."

"Why did he leave? How do you know he left?" Draco noticed the tears in the Mudblood's (Muggle-born's?) eyes and his throat constricted unhelpfully.

"I saw him leave," Draco admitted shortly. "He said something about him never having supposed to survive and that it should have ended then and something about it having to end now. None of it made any sense to me." He added in as off-handed a manner as he could illustrate.

"LIAR! YOU IMPERIOUSED HIM, DIDN'T YOU? WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE YOU ARE DEAD, MALFOY!" Weasley ranted, but his threats went ignored. Draco couldn't even be bothered to think of more insults for him, he was _that_ distort.

Granger's watery eyes widened as though struck by sudden inspiration, but then she shook her head and cried even harder. "He's seen the memory..." she sobbed quietly because, evidently that should explain everything. "He saw Snape's memory."

"Professor Snape?" Draco choked. He did not want to know. He did not want to hear it!

However, know-it-all Granger could, ironically, _not_ read minds and so nodded to him gravely. "Voldemort killed Snape not long ago. We saw him." she confessed.

"Why didn't you save him?" bemoaned Draco as his eyes burned anew, but he already knew the answer was obvious.

"If we had tried then we would all be dead." Granger confirmed harshly. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and tried again to collect himself. First, his best friend kills himself then his crush willing walks into a death trap, and now his godfather is murdered? Who was next? He coughed with the effort not to scream.

"I want to see that memory." Draco decided. If for nothing else, if all was now lost; he needed to know why Potter would feel like he had to do this, and maybe discover what had caused the boy who lived turned the man who died cowardly to kiss _him_. He did not know, nor did he care why, he just knew that he needed to see that memory before the whole Wizarding world literally craved in on its self.

Granger looked at him curiously. "NO! DON'T LET HIM, HERMIONE! HE'S JUST GOING TO USE IT AGAINST US!" Weasley warned loudly from his place at their feet.

"I don't think that matters at the moment," sighed Granger, surprising Draco enough for it to show on his face. Weasley spluttered on the floor in outrage. "I want to see it too, besides if Harry does…" Granger struggled to find her breath. "If he does… fail…" Draco felt his stomach clench painfully, "then we need to know what Harry knows so that we can help everyone left behind."

"But Hermione!" Weasley, it seemed, was determined to protest to any and all cooperation. "He can't find out! That would be like showing You-Know-Who the memory!"

Granger was looking at Draco sternly. "If he does tell then it would be too late anyway. It's not as if he could make much of a difference now." she proclaimed with confidence Draco didn't think she was faking. Weasley, however, did not seem so sure. Draco nodded stiffly, not knowing how else to respond. "The Pensieve is in Dumbledore's office." Granger said. Draco appeared to be the only one who noticed Granger's slip; McGonagall was the Headmistress now but somehow it was still natural to refer to it as Professor Dumbledore's office.

Natural to everyone but Draco since he could only shiver with self revulsion every time he heard the loony codger's name.

Draco nodded as if he had not noticed. He knew that Potter and his miscreants had been close to the late Headmaster, not half because the old fool had frankly let them get away with anything and everything while he was alive, and even awarded them house points for it too. But then, Professor McGonagall was just the same. Potter and his pals were always let off far too easily. And the hypocrites accused Professor Snape of favouritism! Snape merely balanced the playing field, marginally, and now he was gone, along with any hope of Slytherin House coming through this War on the other side.

Granger turned slowly and began to walk towards the crumbled gargoyle lying across the Headmistress' Office entrance. Draco resentfully cast a levitation spell on the silent Weasel after an extended moment contemplating the definite pros in leaving the gangly vermin behind, but finally decided against it with a long suffering sigh; he was relieved that he wouldn't have to listen to his ghoulish mumbles, at least. When Draco caught up with Granger, Weasley floating precariously in tow, she was stepping cautiously over the miserable looking gargoyle between pitiful apologies. Draco rolled his eyes as he stepped on the gargoyle, not uttering a word of sentiment while the beastly thing shouted obscenities at his heels.

The door was closed when they reached the top of the moving staircase. Granger looked suspiciously at the ornate carved door before gently turning the golden handle. The room was exactly the same as it had ever looked, Draco remembered from last year when Professor Dumbledore had summoned him to this Office to ask veiled questions about his 'extract curricular activities'. Of course, now when Draco looked back on it, he felt disgusted with how easily he had convinced himself that the Headmaster was oblivious of what he had been up to in his spare time. That he had deluded himself so completely into believing that he could fool the One and Only Wizard the Dark Lord had always feared. The night on the Astronomy Tower proved that much.

It was as if the battle had completely missed this small sanctuary. Draco felt a comforting sense of safety in this room, same as he had done before, as he looked around at all the empty portraits of the past Headmasters until a flicker of flamboyant colour drew his attention to the largest portrait sharply, hanging directly behind the Headmaster's desk.

Granger gasped beside him as she, too, realized that they were not alone in the room. The previous Headmaster was very much there with them. Weasley was, predictably, the last to notice and his chocked gurgle was the only sound that announced the intake of this new slice of information. Draco was too shocked to even roll his eyes. The last time he had seen that wizard's wrinkly face was when Draco had pointed his Hawthorn wand at him with the intention to kill. Draco had been having nightmares about reprisals on both Dumbledore's part and Potter's, but he had never expected to actually come face to face with the deceased Headmaster again…

. : :* *: : .

If today was your last day  
and tomorrow was too late  
could you say goodbye to yesterday?

. :*: .

_… Voldemort titled his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth._

_"Harry Potter," he said, very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The boy who lived."_

_None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting; everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry _tried think_ of _Ginny in what he knew to be his last seconds on Earth, but ice blue flecked, grey eyes invaded his mind and the continued feeling of his tingling lips, burned with the recent memory of his and Draco's intensely passionate first kiss_–_

_He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone._

. :*: .

Would you live each moment like your last?  
Leave old pictures in the past  
donate every dime you have?  
Would you call old friends you never see?  
Reminisce of memories  
would you forgive your enemies?

. : :**: : .

"P-Professor?" Granger's voice shook with an emotion, Draco didn't recognize.

"Yes, my dear, it is me," the Portrait spoke softly. The piecing forget-me-not blue eyes smiled sadly down at them as Draco, Granger and Weasley stared up in astonishment. "Do not be frightened. I am merely a memory of my former self, as are all wizarding portraits. I was not supposed to make my presence known until later, but you have caught me a bit off guard."

"P-Professor, we-we're so sorry –" Granger began, but the phantom memory raised his painted palm to stop her proceeding.

"Do not apologise, my dear. It is_ I,_ who should be doing so. For persons so young, you three have exceeded so many of my expectations. I am very proud of what you have accomplished."

Draco frowned at the Headmaster's assertions. "I'm sorry, Professor. But did you say, 'the three of us?'" Draco asked, so bewildered that he momentarily forgot his overwhelming needed to shrink into the shadows where he would be more welcome.

"That I did, my boy." The daft, wise man smiled sadly at Draco, causing a chill to race down the lone Slytherin's spine. "I am very proud of Harry, Miss Granger and young Mister Weasley, of course, but do not think that I have not thought about the challenges you have faced throughout it all. You, Mister Malfoy, have had the most difficult battle of all; an internal battle that would force a difficult decision from you. That of a choice, between what is right, and what is easy. But, of course, these choices are never easy when family is involved. Harry, himself has had to make that decision, and he chose wisely. As have you, isn't that right?" Draco's pale cheeks flushed brightly pink, hearing what was surely an implication that Professor Dumbledore, _somehow_, knew about the kiss Draco and Potter had shared in the corridor beyond that room. And he could see Granger at the corner of his eye, watching him peculiarly, as if he would ever unintentionally give away the answer to her silent bombard of questions. At least, Weasley was still gaping ogrishly, hovering in the air on his side, behind Draco.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I-I don't know what you mean." Draco stammered, trying to regain his composure when a heavy feeling of foreboding had fallen upon his shoulders.

"Oh, I think you do, Draco. Do not be ashamed of who you are. Some wizards were simply not meant for the dark." Professor Dumbledore pressed good-naturedly.

"I – Of _course_, I'm made for the dark! My whole family is _made for the dark_. Why shouldn't I be?" Draco said defensively.

It struck Draco straight in his chest when the late Headmaster pierced him with a patiently disbelieving look.

"And I was so sure that your mother wasn't either. She never did get branded with the Dark Mark, isn't that correct? And she wished for you not to wear it also, but Lord Voldemort is a powerful man to disagree with, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes… Professor," said Draco, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He didn't want to return to the Dark Lord's services anyway, not after the things he had seen, now that he _knew_, so why bother trying to defend the tatters of his honour? "I don't think I want to fight for the dark, anymore."

"No, I thought not. Not to worry, my boy. All will be well soon enough." The likeness assured.

"Professor?" Granger spoke keenly, with a clear question on the tip of her tongue.

"Yes, my dear?"

"We think Harry went out to face V-Voldemort, on his own –"

"Ah, yes. That is correct," the Professor confirmed gravely. "It was the right decision, and Voldemort will be mortal once more."

"You mean he can be killed?" Granger probed, enthusiastically.

"What about, Potter?" Draco said before he could stop himself. Granger looked at him even more curiously as Draco held his breath.

"Yes, Miss Granger, he can be killed. And Harry has fulfilled the prophecy." Dumbledore answered with an all-knowing smile, and Draco's teeth began to grind.

"So, he'll be alright?" Weasley spoke at last, no longer impersonating an incompetent wizard who had been stupefied.

"Why don't you see for yourselves?" The likeness of Dumbledore avoided unexpectedly.

"What do you mean, Professor?" Granger inquired in anticipation when all Draco wanted to do, was scream.

"I mean, Miss Granger, that sunrise is on the horizon. It is time to face the morning." Draco gritted his teeth to silence the scrapping, and looked passed the window to see the sky lightening in the distance. _The truce was over._

Granger and Weasley looked to one another, the fright shinning in their wide eyes. The time had come. Granger saw that Draco was watching them and gave him a heavy look full of confusion. Not ever wanting to deal with her inquisitiveness, Draco turned back to the previous Headmaster's portrait only to see an empty frame. He'd gone. And so must they go, to join the others and wait for whatever the morning will bring.

. :*: .

Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?  
Swear up and down to God above  
that you finally fall in love  
if today was your last day

. :*: .

Draco, Granger and Weasley ran through the corridors, heading towards the Great Hall. Granger had rightly said that they were needed amongst the wounded, before the Dark Lord's army attacked again. Everybody had to be warned that Harry had fulfilled the prophecy. Nevertheless, Draco had only one thing on his mind since he had left the Headmistress' office, and he carried on running past the Great Hall and on through the Entrance Hall.

"Malfoy!" Granger called after him. And Draco begrudgingly paused, huffing. "Where are you going? We agreed to stay in the Great Hall!"

"I'm going out there," Draco gasped out, his mind already outside and racing away from them.

"What? You planning on facing You-Know-Who yourself, are you?" Weasley scoffed at him sceptically.

"I have to see whether Potter's d - dead. They don't know that I've switched sides, they won't suspect me." Draco assured in a flutter of anxiety.

"Don't be ridiculous, you can't predict what the Death Eaters will do now. You can't take a risk like that, we have to stay together!" said Granger with determination. Draco felt a shiver of respect for the Mudblood – er, Muggle-born – she had backbone, which was a bloody good thing because she was going to need it being in a long term commitment with the Weasel who sure as hell didn't have any. It had been so _obvious_ that they would get together, _everyone _knew it; it was sickening to watch.

"I can't go in there, I'll be cursed on the spot," Draco protested. "I just have to see for myself whether Potter is alive or not."

"Why do you even care? I don't get it," grumbled Weasley, finally voicing his inner grumblings. "You're suddenly on our side? Since when?" Draco sighed heavily. He did not have the time or the patience to explain anything to a Weasley.

"I don't – Just… trust Dumbledore," said Draco tiredly. It was bad enough that the kook of a Headmaster seemed to know about his weak moment with Potter, he was not about to tell Potter's friends.

Suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close, it sounded as if he was standing right behind him. Draco jumped and spun around with Crabbe's wand raised frightfully, where only air greeted him. The Dark Lord had magically magnified his voice so that it swelled through the grounds, reverberated from the walls and floor, to crash upon their eardrums.

_"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."_Draco all of a sudden felt a piecing pain in his chest as his knees buckled under him. He began to panic when he could not draw breath; he crumpled onto the stone floor. He hurt all over.

_God_, it hurt _so_ much. _"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."_ Draco felt sick to his stomach. Granger's face was as bloodless as ash, and Weasley looked shattered. The whole of the castle seemed to be petrified by the news of Harry Potter, no one wanted to believe it, no one wanted to find out if it was true.

"No. No, no, no…" whispered Draco, squeezing his eyes closed tight. It was not real. He did not believe it.

_"Come."_ The Dark Lord taunted him.

Slowly, Draco begun to hear footsteps from inside the Great Hall, and they were coming closer. Draco was weeping pitifully, clutching at his chest as if he was attempting to rip out his own heart. It would make no difference if he had, Draco reflected absent from his internal torment; nothing could feel worse than this.

_Nothing_.

Draco barely acknowledged the hands underneath his unresisting arms as he was being dragged somewhere by someone, he barely heard the hysterical voices or the harsh whispers near him. There was nothing. Nothing... but the pain.

The grief.

The loss.

"Malfoy? Stay here, okay? Can you hear me?" Someone was talking to him, whispering soothingly and rubbing at his arms as if they were trying to starve off a chill. However, Draco was not cold. He was not anything. He was completely unfeeling; numb. Draco never recognized that he was left on his own. He did not mind. He wanted it that way.

It was dark where he was, but that was okay. He did not want to see.

It was deadly quiet wherever he had been lead, but that was just fine. He did not want to hear.

And somewhere, in some withdrawn part of his senses, he knew that it was cold where he sat, rigid and motionless. However, that did not matter to him either. He could not feel.

. : :* *: : .

Against the grain should be a way of life  
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight  
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try  
So live like you'll never live it twice  
Don't take the free ride in your own life

. :*: .

_Screams split the dawn, and Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Harry could not bear it: he must act –_

_And then many things happened at the same moment._

_They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted towards the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Grawp came lumbering round the side of the castle and yelled, "HAGGER!" His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort's giants: they ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves, and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise. Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from inside his robes, swung it over himself and sprang to his feet, as Neville moved too._

_In one swift, fluid motion Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming Hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle –_

_The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd, or the sounds of the clashing giants, or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With one single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake's head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, and Voldemort's mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake's body thudded to the ground at his feet –_

. :*: .

If today was your last day  
would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?  
You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars  
Regardless of who you are  
So do whatever it takes  
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life  
Let nothin' stand in your way  
Cause the hands of time are never on your side

. : :* *: : .

"Draco?!" the distant echo of a woman's voice called out his name repeatedly.

"…Draco!" Draco stared unseeingly at the stone floor at his feet. His vision was blurred and distorted, possibly through the tears he could feel burning behind his eyelids every time he blinked. 246, he had counted thus far. The number of times he had blinked since he had broken. "Draco?!" The woman's voice insisted on calling to him over and over again, he thought it was coming closer, but he could not be sure. He could not be sure of anything, anymore.

254… it felt comforting to count; it was productive, distracting… 258… "My darling? Where are you?" The woman's voice was familiar, and it sparked an emotion deep inside him. A longing…, longing for a mother's touch, the type that could sooth any pain. "My dragon, there you are," said Narcissa Malfoy with astounded relief. She wrapped her arms around her motionless son and held him close, breathing in his scent to assure herself that she had him again, that he was safe and he was real. "Oh, my darling, don't ever leave my side again." She whispered into his feather soft hair, placing a kiss on the crown of his head.

Draco remained stiff in his mother's arms, his tears coming faster and harsher when he realized that the pain was still there, that even his mother's touch could not starve away his grief. "Draco, what is wrong?" Narcissa asked worriedly. She pulled back to look her anguished son over, frantically looking for injuries.

"Oh, mother." Draco sobbed. He could not help himself from falling back into his mother's embrace. He clung to her as if she was his only lifeline. "It hurts _so_ much… I can't stand it…"

"What, darling? What hurts, where?" said Narcissa fretfully.

"He's gone," whispered Draco harshly, his body shaking violently. "He's _dead_, and I never got to tell him…"

"Who?" Narcissa pressed quietly, aware of how distraught her son was.

"I _love _him," Draco wanted to scream it at her, to try and make her understand his pain, but he could not. He felt abused and lifeless, and it reflected in his voice. "I love him _so much_…"

"Oh, Draco…" Narcissa sighed, bringing her son closer to herself, letting him cry against her neck. It was no surprise to her; purebloods had nothing against same sex relationships as long as the bloodlines were continued, (always the very first priority), and she had long since known that her son favoured men. Of course, Lucius was none the wiser, both she and Draco feared his response should he ever discover the truth.

But with all her precious boy had been through the past three years since the Dark Lord's return, she had hoped that he could find comfort in a companion, at the very least, but it seemed that Draco could not even be permitted that.

"Shhhh now," she whispered soothingly, stroking his fine hair like she used to when he had been small; before the Dark Lord had isolated him from her and Lucius, before his childhood innocence had been stripped from him through torture and forced committing of crimes, under the threat of death. "It will all be over soon. The Light, they have the advantage now, and once the Potter boy has dealt with the Dark Lord -"

Draco went rigid in her arms, his ragged breathing the only sound in the small broom cupboard. Narcissa watched with growing concern as Draco lifted his head slowly and peered at her through red rimmed eyes.

He stared at her impassively. "W-what?" he whispered, his breathing unsteady. Narcissa frowned at her son and reached out to stroke his wet cheek, but his hand shot up to stop her, holding her soft hand in a vice-like grip that told of his urgency. Narcissa's blue eyes went wide in astonishment. "W-what d-id you say?" he repeated more forcefully this time, his breaths coming faster.

"I – I think the Light will win, Draco," said Narcissa carefully. "Potter is battling the Dark Lord as we speak and even though he is only a half-blood boy -"

"No," said Draco quickly. "Potter's dead. I heard the Dark Lord -"

"He did not know…" she trailed off, understanding suddenly dawning on her and she looked at her son as a sharp pang of guilt pieced her heart. "The Dark Lord had me check Potter's pulse when the Killing Curse backfired. Potter faked his death, so that he could strike when the Dark Lord no longer considered him a threat. Oh, my dragon…, I'm so sorry you thought -"

"Potter's alive?" whispered Draco in disbelieve. He did not see his mother affirm with a short nod, his heart was thundering in his throat and his ears were buzzing loudly. "Potter's alive…" he repeated even quieter than before. He closed his eyes and felt fresh tears wet his lashes, only these were not tears of painful loss... but of joyous relief.

"I'm going to kill him," said Draco with a hoarse laugh. Narcissa watched as her son came back to himself, a love so pure shinning in his cold grey eyes, burning through, that there was no doubt in her mind that it could even warm a heart made of stone. She had never seen him look so happy. "I'm going to kill him," Draco repeated louder this time, anger making its way sluggishly into his pin-prickling system. "Where is he?" he demanded of his mother, who was smirking at his behaviour.

"Well, the Dark Lord was in the Great Hall last I saw, so I would think..." Before she could even finish her sentence, Draco had barged his way out of the cramped cupboard, which he now realised he had been dumped in and was storming towards the Entrance Hall. Narcissa smiled indulgently before following her love struck child.

Draco stalked to the Great Hall entrance; the huge oak doors were open wide permitting anyone who passed admittance inside. Wizards, Witches and magical creatures alike, had fallen back on the sidelines, and Draco and Narcissa joined them without notice. Every eye was trained on the two dangerous, and powerful, wizards circling in the centre of the Hall.

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Potter was there, alive and looking stronger than ever. Now that Draco had realised his true feelings towards the Gryffindor hero, he recognized the familiar tightening in his chest that he had been accustomed to for a long time and, finally acknowledged what it was.

_"…I removed it from its last master's wishes! Its power is mine!" the Dark Lord's voice shook with malicious pleasure._A vicious shiver crawled down Draco's spine.

_"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you?"_ Potter's voice was firm, aggressive even and Draco's belly fluttered with sudden excitement and nervousness._ "Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? **The wand chooses the wizard**… the Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realising exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…"_

_Voldemort's chest rose and fell rapidly, and_Draco watched with baited breath as Potter continued to circle with the Dark Lord. His posture was tense with anticipation but his face was completely void of emotion, his gaze impenetrable.

_"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."_Draco felt his heart skip a beat, barely able to believe the devastating statement. He had not known that; how could he not know that?

_Blank shock showed in the Dark Lord's face for a moment, but then it was gone._

_"But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…"_Draco took an involuntary step backwards, his eyes wide and terrified. He felt his mother encircle her arms protectively around him, but it did little to keep the icy fist of fear from enveloping him.

_"But you're too late," said _Potter_. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him." _And Potter_ twitched _Draco's beloved_ hawthorn wand_and Draco stared at the length of dark wood in his rival's grasp, his fear melting away as a new emotion gripped him. Somehow, the fact that Potter possessed his wand sent a thrill from the roots of his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes. It felt right that his wand belonged to the unlikely hero, just like _Draco_ belonged solely, and irrevocably, to him.

_"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered _Potter_. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."_Draco felt his stomach clench and his heart soar.

. : :* *: : .

_A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both their faces at the same time, so that the Dark Lord's was suddenly a flaming blur._

_Harry heard the high voice shriek as he, too, yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:_

**_"Avada Kedavra!"_**

**_"Expelliarmus!"_**

_The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell._

_One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered towards him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was all over at last –_

. : :* *: : .

If today was your last day  
and tomorrow was too late  
could you say goodbye to yesterday?

. :*: .

Draco stood at the edge of the Great Hall, not having moved from where he had witness the man he loved defeat the most powerful Dark Lord in history. He watched with glowing pride and a heavy heart as hundreds of wizards and witches, and an assortment of various other magical creatures, surrounded his heart's desire, and with a stab of resolve, he realised that this was the way things were always going to be. He could never reach him. It should have come as no surprise to him, but somehow, it did.

Potter was made for this; he had more than proved that. He was a hero through and through, and he would always be surrounded with those who admired him, who would do anything for him… who would love him…

Draco was not needed, not by Harry Potter. It hurt, of course it did, but at least this way he would know that Potter was okay. He was alive, and he was happy: that was all Draco needed.

Draco felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, stroking soothing circles, her warmth seeping through his school shirt. Draco looked down at his Slytherin uniform, and suddenly had the violent urge to tear it from his body and burn it, but he reframed. Instead, he looked up into the concerned face of his mother and braved a watery smile.

"Let's go," said Draco decisively. Narcissa frowned at him and then glowered over toward the huge crowd in the centre of the Hall, no doubt in search of one, Harry Potter. "It's not his fault, mother," Draco insisted. "This is the way it was supposed to be."

"You deserve better than this, Draco." said Narcissa defiantly. And Draco was touched by her sentiment.

"I just want to go to rest." whispered Draco with the utmost honesty. Narcissa stared into the exhausted eyes of her son and nodded with a worn sigh of her own.

"Draco!" a shout suddenly caught their attention.

Narcissa and her son looked to the beseeching man's voice to see Lucius Malfoy walking swiftly towards his family. Draco watched his father in astonishment when the strong arms of Lucius Malfoy promptly encircled him. Lucius had not held his son since he was of the young age of seven.

"Forgive me," Lucius whispered into his son's white-blond hair that so much resembled his own. Draco's eyes widened over his father's broad shoulder. "Forgive me, my dragon. I have failed to protect you for so long, I was a coward and I do not deserve your love. Please, forgive me, my son." Narcissa's eyes filled with unshed tears at the sight of her husband's open affection and the sound of his melodic voice full of compassion, like she had so missed: since before the Dark Lord had returned, Lucius had turned cold towards those who loved him, never trusting, never allowing his unyielding guard to be torn down. That had not been the Lucius Malfoy she had fallen in love with.

"Oh father," Draco half-sobbed, half-sighed into the collar of his father's Death Eater robe. "Of course, I forgive you. I've missed you." There were tears in Lucius' usually steel-grey eyes, but now they were warm and full of light, like a mild thunderstorm sweeping steadily across the otherwise clear blue sky.

"I've missed you too, my precious boy." Lucius breathed through his joyous tears. He looked uncertainly up at his wife, feeling guilty for his neglect of their once harmonious marriage, but she only smiled adoringly back.

All was forgiven. "I love you, father." Draco whispered, feeling content within his father's embrace once more.

"I love you too, Draco." Lucius whispered in return.

With a smile of encouragement, Narcissa took hold of her husband's hand amongst the celebratory chaos, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin seeping into her own. The jubilation of the crowded Hall was deafening but people were finally coming back to themselves, grouping together and becoming organised. A tall black wizard had called control over the masses, and the suffocating mass of fans flocking Potter, slowly dispersed and the House tables reappeared.

Lucius took his eyes off of the loving sight of his reunited family to peer around them more cautiously. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, even as Magical Law Enforcement subdued and captured all the remaining opposition, although it was obvious that most of the survivors had already gotten away. He was confused, however grateful, when nobody swooped down on them to separate him from his son and wife once more. And as others settled down at the wooden furniture offered to them, Lucius coaxed his wary family out of the way of the milling and intimidating crowd between the nearest tables, backs against the wall, willing his wife and son to rest while they still could.

Draco huddled between his parents, watching as the Dark Lord's body was levitated and dumped through the closest door into the rarely used chamber beyond. Draco didn't know how he felt right now. Relieved would be a reasonable assumption but really, Draco thought he felt nothing much at all. Maybe, he was still numb from his earlier scare? Seeing Potter, completely surrounded, by all walks of magical race, compelled to talk to them, witness their tears, received their thanks and be touched by them. And Draco was still so far way, unable to talk to him, unable to give his thanks, unable to touch.

Potter's disappearance went unnoticed by all, but Draco felt the fine hairs on his nape stand up. However, when Draco's eyes scanned the Hall and could no longer find one, Harry Potter, he knew in his heart that it was time to give into his exhaustion, finally.

. :*: .

Would you live each moment like your last?  
Leave old pictures in the past  
donate every dime you have?  
Would you call old friends you never see?  
Reminisce of memories  
would you forgive your enemies?

. :*: .

Telling Ron and Hermione that he was not heading back to the Gryffindor dormitory with them just as they were climbing through the portrait hole, was not a difficult decision, especially when his best friends were clearly eying each other as if they were already alone. Harry hurried along the third floor corridor, making his way steadily towards his destination. He had been to see Dumbledore's Portrait with Hermione and Ron, and he felt utterly drained after the day's mourning and celebration. The familiar warmth of his phoenix feather wand, newly repaired, was soaking through the pocket of his jeans into his much-abused skin, soothing all his aches.

Absently, Harry wondered how many scars he had now, he had counted three so far but it was most likely that there were many more. When he had showered earlier, before the celebrations had really gotten started, he had not taken the time to fully inspect his injuries which Miss Pomfrey would definitely scold him for later, considering he had been avoiding her all day for a reason. After everything he had been through, he supposed his body could tell a story all on its own, but he was too exhausted to care. There was only one thing he wanted to do before collapsing onto a wide, soft mattress.

Clambering down the stone stairs opposite the Entrance Hall and wondering deeper under the castle, Harry was relieved that he remembered where the Slytherin common room was hidden since his first and only visit in second year. Harry was surprised to find the concealed stone wall entrance left open, admitting anyone inside.

Cautiously, Harry ventured in. "Erm… Hello?" he called uncertainly. The eerie green tinged light leaching from the Black Lake beyond the tall arched windows illuminated the empty common room; it looked smaller then Harry remembered, darker too with the black and green sofas, as well as the other dark wood furniture. He stepped inside and walked across the cold stone floor, his footsteps echoing in the hollow dungeon. There were haphazardly discarded books, parchment, quills and various magical games paused in progress, and there was already a thin line of dust building since the Slytherins had left the battle through the Room of Requirement.

Last night. So much had happened in such a sort amount of time. Only nine hours had passed since Harry had been convinced that he was going to die. Nine hours, since he had shared an impulsive, desperately passionate kiss with one, Draco Malfoy. And now, at mid-afternoon, Harry was about to confront the blond Slytherin, and he didn't know quite what he was going to say to him. He didn't really even know what had happened between them.

"Hello?!" said Harry, louder this time. He slowly made his way across the room towards the staircase that, he assumed, led to the dormitories. He had been up since yesterday morning and was feeling the strain as he pushed himself up the remorseless stone staircase, his calf muscles complaining with every step he conquered. And the muffled sound of the gentle waves, swishing against each window Harry passed as he climbed, steadily, above the waterline was like a siren to his shattered body, and a banshee to his remaining resistance against the overwhelming need for food and rest when he peeked out over the calm, slumberous lake.

"Draco?!" Harry called, a little desperately. He was not sure if he had the right to call Draco by his first name; the last thing the man had said to him was that he hated him, and Harry was not entirely sure what his reaction would be to Harry's surprise presence.

Harry turned a sharp corner on his left, which he hoped was the way to the boys' dorms; his assumption was immediately confirmed by the figure suddenly blocking his path.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco sneered.

He was standing with his arms folded defensively across his chest, his stance deliberately casual but subconsciously guarded. Harry stared at him, taking in the long white nightshirt that fell past his knees revealing pale, seemingly hairless and well-muscled calves, and mussed, thin, white-blond tresses falling into his sleep-bright eyes. He had never seen Draco look so… _dishevelled_. Harry tilted his head to one side thoughtfully, and quickly decided that he liked this look on his rival.

"Potter," said Draco sharply after Harry had failed to answer his question. His pale grey eyes were narrowed suspiciously when he caught Harry's attention. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head quickly, clearing it and dislodging the thick, black strands from around his shoulders, then dug around in his jean pockets, searching and pulling out a Hawthorn wand: Draco's old wand.

"I came to give you this," said Harry, offering the wand to Draco gracelessly. "I have mine back now," he explained, feeling rather nervous all of a sudden. "I thought you might like yours back as well."

Harry was surprised when an intense sadness flashed through Draco's eyes before he slowly took his wand from Harry's lax grasp. Harry had thought that Draco would be pleased, hadn't this been why Draco followed Harry into the Room Of Hidden Things late last night? But as soon as Draco gasped once the familiar, friendly heat of his true wand flushed up his arm; his expression remained grim, and full of…, remorse?

"Don't you want it back?" asked Harry in confusion.

Draco's eyes snapped up from where he had been gazing at his wand to meet Harry's questing gaze, his expression immediately wiped of all emotion, and he looked back at him coldly. It was so alike to how Draco had always looked at him, when they had been sworn enemies and had fought for so many years, that it sent an unnerving chill through Harry's body. He had always really hated that look.

"Of course I want it back," Draco bit-out. He raised his pointy chin arrogantly, looking down his narrow nose at Harry. "I'm just surprised to get it back, what with all the trouble to when through to steal it."

"I didn't steal it," said Harry through gritted teeth, quickly losing his patience. He did not come here to fight but he was too tired to have any rein on his emotions. "I disarmed you. I was trying to protect myself and my friends. It's not my fault you got in the way."

"No," said Draco unpleasantly. "But it worked out quite well for you, didn't it?" he scorned bitterly. "What with you being the Master of the most powerful wand in history. _Convenient_, wouldn't you say?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" said Harry angrily.

"It means, _Potter_," Draco spat, "that I wouldn't be surprised if that was your plan all along. Get captured and brought to _my_ home and disarm _me_, while leaving me and my family to deal with the consequences. Meanwhile, you're counting down the days until you can gloat to all your little supporters, not to mention to the Dark Lord himself, about how you defeated me so easily. It was just a bonus for you to trick me into letting my guard down. You and the Weasel must have had a right laugh about our little kissing session before you _died_. Oh, no wait. That's right, you _didn't_!"

Harry gaped at him. "You think I _tricked _you into kissing me?!" asked Harry incredulously. Draco opened his mouth to either agree or argue, but Harry did not give himself the chance to find out. "I didn't _know_ I was going to survive, not that time! I thought I was done for! And I didn't _plan_ to be captured and taken to your house, how stupid do you think I am?! I lost a _friend_ that night! Not that _you_ would think that a house-elf could be considered a friend, but he was to _me_! And, for the record I was not _gloating_, I was just buying myself more time before Voldemort was about to try and kill me _again_! I wasn't even sure the Elder wand would work for me! It was all by chance that I survived, again, last night! I didn't know _what _was going to happen but I took a chance, just like I took a chance on kissing you." Harry was breathing heavily by the time he had concluded his little rant, he was shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion, and he did not know which one would win out. Draco was shaking as well, but his eyes reflected something different, something new.

Before Harry could determine what that might be, Draco had moved so fast that Harry was helpless to stop him. Harry's gasp was swallowed my Draco's needy mouth, as his lips crushed against Harry's. Draco's arms wrapped around his neck and long fingers threaded through his thick and wild tuffs of black hair. And Harry was too tired to attempt to fight him, if he had even wanted to, pitifully giving in within seconds.

Harry sighed as his mouth opened for Draco's exploration, his arms winding around Draco's impeccably too thin waist. They spent long minutes just tasting and touching each other, filling each other's senses with the other. Harry felt blissfully content now that he had Draco back within the circle of his arms, and this time, knowing that he was not going to be abruptly torn away again. Harry backed Draco into the nearest wall, pressing his weight into him. He was so fatigued, but his mouth and hands kept moving, not ever wanting to stop again.

He eventually rested his forehead against Draco's while they both broke apart for air, albeit reluctantly, panting and clinging to each other. Harry kept his eyes closed; his lids too heavy and Harry too exhausted to pry them open, leaning further into the warm body in front of him.

"So," he breathed unevenly. "Am I forgiven?" There was a breathy chuckle in response and then he felt moistened, swollen lips brush teasingly along his own.

"No," whispered Draco, and Harry's heart jumped in his chest even though he could hear the smirk in that low, drawling voice. "But I'll allow this…, for now."

"Okay," Harry sighed. He knew they still had a lot to talk about, and even more history to work through, but he was content for now. They would deal with all that in the morning. Which brought the question: "Can I stay with you?"

"…you really want that?" asked Draco cautiously. Maybe, it was wishful thinking but Harry could have sworn he heard a hint of hope in his voice.

"Yeah..., if that's okay with you?"

Hands pushed at Harry's shoulders and he opened his eyes reluctantly to see huge grey eyes, up close and staring back at him. Draco searched his face, and Harry smiled encouragingly which earned a small smile in return.

"It's okay with me," whispered Draco. Harry leaned in and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss before, grudgingly pulling away from the comfortable warmth and looked to the door Draco must have come through.

"Is that your dorm?" asked Harry, gesturing to the nearest door, the first of many inside the long, cold stone tunnel Harry now realised they had been snogging in. Draco nodded and took Harry's left hand to lead him into the seventh year, boys' dormitory.

"My mother and father are sleeping in the dorm down the hall," said Draco conversationally while Harry looked around at the four-poster beds with silk hangings in Slytherin green. The five beds appeared ancient with their ornate carvings in the head-and-tailboards, and the expensive looking bedding and pillows were embroidered with glinting silver threat. Harry thought they seemed awfully inviting.

"Which one's yours?" said Harry, not listening in the slightest; his mind was fully focused on sleep now. He did not catch Draco's knowing smirk.

"That one." said Draco, pointing to the bed furthest into the room, the only one with the covers turned down. Oh, how had Harry not seen that? Bugger it; he was much too tired to be playing spot-the-difference with Draco right now. Speaking of which...

Harry grabbed Draco's wrist and made a beeline for the bed, shedding his crinkled t-shirt that had spent too many long months inside Hermione's never ending purse, as he lengthened his stride with purpose. He kicked off his trainers, which were beyond magical repair at this point, and shimmied out of his tattered jeans with Draco watching his every fumbling move with amusement, until he was just gloriously in his still half-way decent boxers, with his well-muscled and tanned figure exposed to Draco's appraising eyes.

With a lopsided, vaguely cocky grin, Harry slid under the covers, moaning in relief and pulling them up to his chin. The mattress was soft and the silk lined sheets felt bloody amazing as it glided over his tender skin. He did not even mind that he was being drowned in Slytherin green. It was comfortably warm from before Harry had impulsively invaded Slytherin House and dragged Draco away from thawing his cold sheets with his body heat, and above everything else, with Draco's flowery, earthy scent clouding his mind further, he no longer felt hungry.

However, Harry thought he knew what would make this moment, this feeling even better.

He boldly opened his arms, and with a darn well charming smile, he coaxed Draco to join him in his bed. Draco smirked, although he was blushing slightly – the faint pink colour blended with Draco's pale complexion was very pretty in Harry's opinion – and eagerly climbed in after Harry, visibly withholding himself from snuggling in close.

Harry didn't mind Draco's hesitance, it was still too new to know what this was between them, however despite the underwhelming fear of not knowing that lay before them; he couldn't help the sigh of deep contentment that breezed past his lacked lips.

"Potter?" Draco whispered against a sensitive tendon along Harry's neck, his hot breath tickled him and caused Harry to smile.

"Hmmm?" Harry hummed; his throat and chest vibrating with the low, soothing sound.

Draco took a deep breath and entwined himself more firmly around Harry, breathing in his pine and spice scent and feeling utterly at peace with himself for the first time in years.

"I'm glad you didn't die."

That was such a strange way to say it, and so typical of Draco but Harry felt himself smile in understanding. They would definitely deal with 'That' in the morning. Though, for now: Harry was extremely cosy with the steady, lapping of the lake water against the dormitory windows lulling him into a deep sleep, the heat of the body in his arms allaying his soul, and he had taken the first positive step towards a promising future.

All of which would still be there; tomorrow.

. :*: .

Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?  
Swear up and down to God above  
that you finally fallen in love  
if today was your last day…

. : : :* * *: : : .

THE END

. : : :* * *: : : .

* * *

**END NOTE**

**_This was one of the first fanfics that I ever wrote and it had been a long, long time since I looked it over, that was my bad._**

**_NOW I have read through this story and edited it as much as I possibly could without changing too much of the plot, I have decided to keep this T rated version. I'm h_****_oping, you will all be pleased with the improvements I've made since I wrote this._**

**_ AND I will then, move on to re-write the whole thing, keeping the basic ideals of the plot as a Songfic, and post the NEW (_****_second) version _****_as _**chapter 2. Hopefully, I will finally get this fic exactly how I want it, and improve myself further, including a better understanding of the characters.

**_NEW M RATED VERSION IS ON THE WAY!_**

**_Wish me luck._**


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